


sharp objects

by fated_addiction



Series: history lessons [3]
Category: K-pop, Korean Actor RPF, Mamamoo, Real Person Fiction, SM Entertainment | SMTown, So Nyuh Shi Dae | Girls' Generation, 소녀시대 | Girls' Generation | SNSD
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, F/F, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-22 03:05:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8270266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fated_addiction/pseuds/fated_addiction
Summary: “I wrote my first love song at sixteen,” she tells her therapist finally, after twenty minutes of an expensive silence.
Wheein will be the first to tell you - sometimes love songs have to pay the bills.(This is the first time that they don't.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> See notes at the end.
> 
> As always, this is dedicated to K who, if anything, is the best sounding board ever. I LOVE YOU AND YOU'RE AWESOME.

-

 

 

 

For the first time in months, Wheein goes to therapy.

Her palms are sweaty. Taeyeon is at home with Moonbyul. Nothing about that reassures her; they are probably eating burgers in her bed again.

“I wrote my first love song at sixteen,” she tells her therapist finally, after twenty minutes of an expensive silence. She leans in, pulling a tissue from box next to her. It’s bejeweled; she might need a new therapist.

“That’s intense.”

Wheein looks up, blinking. “I guess.” She shrugs. “Nothing happened with it – it was part of this contest that went to a group that disbanded before they were even a group. I remember because this one girl,” she waves her hand trying to be pointed, or whatever, “who had the _worst_ dye job.”

“But you wrote a love song for them,” her therapist points out.

“Not really. I just wanted the prize money and new sneakers.”

“So why bring me this to talk about?”

Her therapist is staring. 

Wheein opens her mouth and closes it. It thins into a line. She finds it hard to swallow. Rubbing her face, she looks back to the tissue box. Picture this, she thinks. Then, in her head, it morphs into a crueler picture, of Moonbyul stretched onto the sidewalk, her hand clutching her chest and blood seeping between her fingers. Her eyes were never closed. They were wet, Wheein remembers. 

“You must want to talk about _something_ ,” her therapist prods. 

_Something_ is a hard sell. It reminds her that blood looks red. That it sinks into her fingertips. That it took her days to feel like it was off her.

“I guess,” she manages. 

“So –”

 _I’m fine_ , Moonbyul says now. Gently, even. Maybe too much. Wheein closes her eyes and sighs, shaking her head.

“Because,” she sighs, “I don’t want to write anymore.”

 

 

 

 

 

Sleep isn’t easy.

Moonbyul likes to keep her bedroom dark. It makes Wheein a little crazy. The room feels heavy anyway, not too suffocating, but enough where she lies next to Moonbyul and stares at the ceiling, wondering how anyone can really sleep like this.

It’s been a week since Moonbyul got the clearance to leave the hospital. It feels like a blur. The surgery was forever. She plied herself with coffee. Asked Jessica a million questions that she’s sure, totally sure seemed more like a nuisance than helpful. Cried, alone, in the bathroom by herself – the last stall, of course, boots digging into the toilet seat, squeaking as she tried to muffle each sob.

But she’s here, Wheein thinks. She gives up, sighing. She turns to sit up and glances over to Moonbyul. She lies on her side. Faces the door. _It’s a really long story_ , she explained once. Nothing about this has been sensible or linear, but she’s finding out a million more things as they go.

“I’m going to open the window.”

Her voice scrapes into a whisper. There’s a laugh; Moonbyul is awake.

“It’s cold,” she says sleepily.

“Your room is making me sweaty,” she half-accuses, relieved.

Moonbyul turns, her bangs sinking over her eyes. Her mouth twitches a little and she manages to sit up. A small sound leaves Wheein’s mouth in protest, but the other woman reaches for her, pulling her into her side.

“What’s going on?” Moonbyul brushes her mouth over her ear and Wheein feels the flush start to crawl into her throat. “This is the third night you’ve been like this.”

“Keeping track?”

“Do you even _remember_ what your apartment looks like?”

Wheein chokes on her laugh. “No. But I should think about selling it.” Her hand drops over Moonbyul’s thigh. “It doesn’t really seem to miss me.”

“You could give it to Taeyeon.”

“What would we do with her room then?” and Wheein can barely wrap her head around this conversation, or how easily Moonbyul is taking this on. She’s never been traditional; in fact, she’s been the opposite of traditional since she could stand on her own two legs – at least, this is what her family says.

But there’s been no date. There’s been no fight. There’s been no incarnations of jealousy or longing or anything that she gets paid to write about for other people. It’s freaking her out. 

_You almost died_ , she doesn’t say. Out loud. 

“We could get a dog,” Moonbyul murmurs. Wheein looks up and her eyes are closing. “I’ve always wanted a dog. I couldn’t get one though; had to take care of my younger brothers… so I guess that was like having a dog.”

Wheein laughs. “I bet they love you for that comparison.”

“Probably.”

Her heart sinks when Moonbyul doesn’t press or offer anything more. There is a lot she doesn’t know about them, or her for that matter, or any of the things that are important to Moonbyul outside this apartment and Taeyeon. Jessica stands as an even bigger mystery to her, on that she doesn’t feel like she should touch either.

“You know, I can hear you thinking.”

Wheein wrinkles her nose. “Stop.” Her mouth tightens. “Am I that obvious?”

“Yes,” Moonbyul laughs. Her eyes flutter open and she brushes her fingers over her forehead. “You’re an open book.” Her face softens and Wheein watches. “It’s weird,” Moonbyul muses too. “Sometimes I feel like I see things I shouldn’t see.”

“Probably.” Her heart launches itself into her throat. “I gets me into trouble a lot. But it’s not fair – _also_ because you’re a cop.”

“Probably,” Moonbyul echoes, laughing.

They shift around each other. Opening the window is forgotten. Wheein slides back over the bed again, adjusting her head onto the pillow as Moonbyul curves around. Her arm slides under her neck and Moonbyul’s mouth presses into her hair.

“I wouldn’t mind it.” Moonbyul’s voice is warm, flushing over her ear. “If you sold your apartment. I need something to do since I’m on medical leave.”

“But then I’d be homeless.”

There’s a snort. Wheein turns her head back, peeking at Moonbyul. Her eyes are open. She is very awake. Wheein feels her heart start to jump.

“Idiot,” and Moonbyul keeps her voice warm, shifting back to pull Wheein to face her. Her mouth brushes over Wheein’s. “Why do you think I’d let you be homeless? Or let you leave…”

She kisses her again. Wheein slides her fingers into her hair, pulling her closer as her legs slide between Moonbyul’s. She hates that she’s aware: she’s careful with the kind of pressure she pushes into Moonbyul, tries not to get too greedy, rolling her tongue along the inside of Moonbyul’s mouth.

“Ignore me,” she manages, breathlessly even. She bites at Moonbyul’s lip again. “Just ignore me right now.”

Moonbyul laughs against her mouth. She pushes her hand underneath her shirt. Her fingers are cool and Wheein sighs into her relief, fighting back the rest of her brain.

As it stands, reality is not a love song.

 

 

 

 

 

Jessica asks her to lunch.

Taeyeon warns her one night, after they wrap up at the studio. “She asked for your number,” she even says awkwardly.

Wheein snorts. “Did you get weird? Should I worry because you got weird?”

Taeyeon turns red and she nearly pushes her into the car. “I did _not_ get weird,” she mumbles, looking away. 

But Wheein calls and Jessica answers, running the conversation towards a time and a place – a small café near the studio, one that she knows and is comfortable with going to. She feels grateful and concerned that she feels grateful. Maybe, she tells herself, you’re getting too far ahead.

She ends up being too early. Remembers that Jessica likes sweet things – according to Moonbyul who, if anything, cryptically mentioned that Jessica’s sweet tooth gets her into trouble more than caffeine does. She ends up being ridiculously nervous and buying hot apple ciders and sweet potatoes (Taeyeon texted her something about the sweet potatoes after she had left, conveniently) before struggling to pick a corner of the café that seemed like a good place to talk.

Her nerves are all over the place too. She shrugs into her jacket, only to take it off and drape it over the back of her chair. She puts her purse on the chair next to her, then picks it up, dropping it when the barista appears and brings her food and drinks to her from behind the bar.

“You didn’t have to –” she protests, stopping awkwardly when Jessica appears out of nowhere, smiling. “Hi,” she greets.

Jessica sits. “Hi,” she says. She murmurs a _thanks_ to the barista and settles across the table from her. “You’re blushing,” she teases gently.

Wheein groans. “I’m _all over_ the place.”

“Adulthood,” Jessica agrees.

It’s easier to dive straight into the cider and snacks. Jessica peels her potato back carefully, spreading a napkin over her lap with one hand. Wheein feels incredibly out of place all of the sudden, mystified by how careful her motions are. 

“Is it hot?” she asks, blurts really.

“No.” Jessica laughs. Her mouth curves into a half smile. “It’s just one of those things, you know? I have my mom –” she taps the side of her head, “yelling at me to be a mindful and polite example for my little sister.” Her expression changes into something mischievous. “Little did she know,” she says dryly.

“You have a sister?”

“Just one. Soojung. She’s currently in Paris for the month.”

“Oh.” She blinks. Then somehow remembers something about Moonbyul, Jessica’s sister, and a confession. “Did –”

“They were in second grade, I believe. Doesn’t count. And anyway, Soojungie has sworn off humanity and decided to be a hermit or something.”

Wheein exhales. “Good. I mean – minus, the hermit part.”

“I know what you meant.” Jessica laughs and the sound is bright. It’s something that she’s completely unprepared for; she thinks of Taeyeon. “You remind me of her a little,” Jessica says. “I think you’d get along really well.”

“Thanks.” Wheein fidgets. She tries to smile. “I love meeting new people.”

Neither of them has touched their ciders; it seems appropriate, somehow.

“You don’t have to be awkward.” Jessica leans her chin into a hand, studying her. Her expression is curious. “I know you’re dying to ask me things. I’m actually not surprised it’s taken this long – you know, considering.”

Wheein sighs, rubbing her eyes. “I’m that obvious.”

“It’s fine. Consider me the proverbial conversation _before_ the conversation you need to have. I’ll do my best with the Byul answers.”

“It’s not that.” Wheein laughs, biting her lip. “I haven’t even gotten that far – I just don’t even know how to process what’s happened with what I want to happen, if that makes sense? I feel like I’m panicking because she basically told me it would be okay if I moved in last night and that’s really great, _amazing_ actually, but shouldn’t I be freaking out? And what if it’s because she got shot and that terrified me and I don’t want to run away, I want to build a box around her and keep her hidden from the rest of the world –”

Jessica’s hand lands on hers. Wheein stops, midsentence, and has no idea when this happened. Jessica’s hand is softer than she wanted it to be, warmer than she can even understand.

Her eyes burn. “You think I’m crazy.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” Jessica says gently. It’s enough to make Wheein’s eyes water. “I think you’re having a very normal reaction to an insane situation.”

“I just can’t _tell_ her this. She’s been through too much already and I should be freaking about how much about her I don’t know, how much her job scares me and how I should be running far away, in the opposite direction.”

“But that’s not you.”

“No.” Wheein swallows. “That’s not me.”

Jessica is quiet. Her gaze falls onto a corner of the table and Wheein watches, her heart pounding in her ears. What should she expect her to say anyway? It just feels complicated; she doesn’t know how it got to be this way.

“You saw her when she was –” Jessica stops, biting her lip. She seems to choose her words carefully. “When Byul-ah told me she was going to be a cop, I was already deep into… being a doctor.” Jessica laughs a little, shaking her head. “I had already seen a lot of things that were bad, awful parts of people that I can’t just ignore, you know? So when she came to me and was like _this is what I want to do_ , I cried. I yelled at her and I cried. I cried because I was angry. I cried because she was so calm about it and because the only thing I could think of is what would I do if she ended up in the emergency room and I had to take care of her.”

Wheein feels her throat start to dry as she watches Jessica drift into a memory. She rubs her eyes, shaking her head.

“She was on my table once,” she tells Wheein too. “And single-handedly – that was the worst because I had to just push through it.”

Wheein feels her stomach start to not and she pushes her food forward on the table, her appetite disappearing.

“I can barely wrap my head around what happened, so I can’t even imagine that. It makes everything –” she chokes out, rubbing her knuckles into her eyes. “It makes everything,” she repeats, “that I’ve been through pale…”

“It’s not a competition.” Jessica laughs a little, reaching for her hand. “I’m just telling you this because you should talk to her. You should yell, scream, and call her names. Because the worst thing you can do is not tell her at all how you’re feeling.”

Jessica squeezes her hand. Wheein lets out a sigh. It feels heavy against her shoulders and they sink and her head tilts back, her eyes still struggling with tears.

“I have nightmares.”

“I can imagine.”

“And then –” Wheein looks back up, sniffling. “I don’t know how to write anymore. I think about the first time I kissed her. I think about losing her. I think about how dating is supposed have all these linear things and yet, here we are and I just want to skip all of this and drag her to some kind of island.”

“I’m sure she’d like that.” Jessica snort, amused.

“There should be a right way to do this though,” Wheein protests. “Right? I mean, I don’t know anything beyond the stupid things. She loves tacos. She hogs the covers. We _just_ make out. She and Taeyeon try and sneak around and eat burgers in the apartment because they know I hate that –”

“They do?” Jessica laughs, shaking her head. 

“It’s the worst,” Wheein adds. “Then Byul’s bed smells like _meat_.”

“Taeyeon is a terrible cook,” Jessica says. She grins a little, leaning over the table. She brushes her thumbs over the corners of Wheein’s eyes. “I was even worse – but I have medical school to thank for forcing me to, you know, be an adult.”

They both laugh. Jessica reaches for one of the potatoes, bring it in half and feeding Wheein a piece with her fork. It feels like acceptance.

“Relationships are different for everyone.”

Wheein nearly chokes on a piece of her potato, reaching for a napkin.

“Humor me.” Jessica grins a little. “You have to let yourself to be you at some point,” she says. “And if you guys got married tomorrow, you have to be okay with getting married tomorrow – not because you want to hide her from the world but because you want to set out and face the world together. Dates can come later.”

“Is that your blessing?” Wheein jokes.

Jessica smiles and her hand is under her chin again, her gaze wandering to the window. The sun is brighter for the afternoon and her eyes close, a smile pressing into her mouth as she sighs.

“You make her happy,” is all she says.

And that’s a blessing, frighteningly enough.

 

 

 

 

 

The decision to get into music wasn’t always the easiest.

“You have a _voice_ ,” her mother said to her, which, well, was the last nice thing she had said to her before they decided to stop talking to each other. “You need to use that voice or you’ll just continue to be a waste.”

So when she’s asked, how she got into music, it’s a combination of avoidance and sharp deflection – all reasons why she and Taeyeon make the best writing partners.

“Sound parenting,” is what she says.

 

 

 

 

 

There is a carnival in the neighborhood. Not a _real_ carnival, but enough where she sees couples walking around and all she can think is _okay first date, let’s go!_ because that is reason enough.

She doesn’t even ask Moonbyul either. Instead, after she comes home from one of her first runs after getting shot, she drags the other woman to the shower, shoves clean clothes into her hands, and is determined to get them outside in the middle of the event for at least a couple of hours.

“Your hair is wet,” she says sourly, taking a towel as Moonbyul shoves her feet into shoes. She drops the towel over her head and rubs it furiously. “You’re going to catch a cold and your doctor is going to hate me even more.”

“That’s not true.” Moonbyul bats her hands away. She laughs a little. “When’s the last time you were at a carnival?”

“High school,” she answers.

Moonbyul grins. “Bet you were cute.” She leans in, brushing her mouth over her nose and stealing a kiss. “In your uniform,” she adds.

“I hate you,” Wheein manages, face red.

She still grabs Moonbyul’s hand, jerking her behind her as they leave the apartment. Taeyeon said something about meeting them later; she doubts it because Jessica had said something about an early week when they met the other day. It’s their thing, she told Moonbyul who asked too – not saying that they’re reconnecting out loud.

Outside, she spots the carnival from down the street. The city lights seem to flank and frame it, game stands and couples peeking out from odd corners as they get closer. Her fingers are laced tightly around Moonbyul’s hand, who seems content to letting her lead them to the event.

“I feel like a little kid!” she says lightly.

Moonbyul laughs. “It’s nice,” she admits, and Wheein grins widely, shooting her an imaginary heart sign. “I haven’t been out like this in ages – and Taeyeon’s stupid events don’t count because you weren’t always there and I think a lot about drinking myself into a stupor when I’m there.”

“That makes two of us.”

Wheein squeezes her fingers and they arrived to chaos and bright noises, immediately making a beeline for the food signs.

“We’re predictable,” Moonbyul mutters.

“Whatever,” Wheein shrugs, eyeing all the pastries, “Sugar makes the world go ‘round.”

It’s funny. These are all the things she thinks about when she writes songs – these days, at least. What is a good first date? What is that feeling? You know, the one that flutters when you realize that you’re doing these things for the first time. She doesn’t know how she feels; there’s the difference between the experience and what the experience is for everyone else. It lives in her head and seems to unfold for her differently. She’s nervous. She’s excited. She hates every second of it. She doesn’t know how to be this person and maybe that’s what scares her.

“Try this.”

There is sugar on the tips of her fingers. She offers Moonbyul a churro. 

“Really?”

Wheein narrows her eyes. “This is a date,” she says. “Try the damn churro –” and she doesn’t even get to finish, watching with wide eyes as Moonbyul leans in and takes the churro piece from her with her mouth.

Her lips are soft. It’s different from a kiss. It sends a heavy feeling to her belly that uncurls and shifts, settling home, right there and glaring. She’s sure her eyes are wide and her mouth parts, just a little, watching as Moonbyul bites at the churro, then at the tips of her fingers.

She moans a little. “Not fair,” she manages breathlessly.

“You’ll be fine.” Moonbyul’s eyes are dark and lazy.

Wheein doesn’t know how to handle that look. It’s like suddenly, sharply she’s acutely aware of the way that Moonbyul looks at her. It says: you are the only person here and she feels like she’s coming face to face with her feelings, too much, too soon.

She means to deflect, but it’s like muscle memory – she leans in, her mouth brushing over Moonbyul’s, her tongue licking away at leftover sugar. She doesn’t know when Moonbyul moves her hand to her hip, but it jerks her awareness to life, the sensation of her fingers digging into her hip. She can’t think of anything else.

They move forward to the next stand.

 

 

 

 

 

Her therapist is unusually persistent the day she comes to see her – after Moonbyul wakes up from her surgery, wide-eyes, gapping, gasping back to life. Her brain realigns and she reminds herself that was _weeks ago_.

“Do you want to write again?”

Wheein snorts. “It’s my livelihood. I can send money home and not feel guilty about life. I live in an amazing apartment that I haven’t seen in weeks and don’t have to feel guilty about not being there either. Why wouldn’t I want to write again? That’s stupid.”

“You just told me –” The therapist pauses, obviously frustrated. She meets Wheein’s gaze and tries again. “I think that we all go through periods where we want to change things in our lives, big or small.”

“I know what I said earlier.” She shakes her head. “I was paying attention.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Her therapist is insistent. “But you said the words _I don’t want to write again_.” She adds air quotes too. “That’s pretty heavy.”

Wheein picks up the bejeweled tissue box. She holds it between her palms and frowns. It’s offensive, she almost says.

She sighs first. “That’s not how I intended to come off.” She taps at her head. “I’m a mess in here. I’m not usually this impulsive. In fact, I try to distract from letting people know that I’m not impulsive. I’m bubbly, but I can’t handle not having a plan. I know what I want, but moving forward scares the hell out of me.”

“You’re in love,” her therapist finishes.

Words are dangerous. Words have always been dangerous. She learned that quickly the first time she wrote a song – it was a commercial hit and a lesson that you could go and sell anything, including love, _especially_ love.

“I think so,” she replies. Her voice softens and she rubs her eyes. The tissue box falls into her lap too. “I think I am. I mean, I –”

Her mouth twists and she stretches her legs out, dropping them onto the coffee table in front of her. It makes the therapist jump and glare.

“I can recognize it as love. I could probably even say the words. Byul-ah, I love you. I love you a lot and don’t see any other way of dealing with this other than spending the rest of my life with you.”

“But?”

Her mind wanders. In her head, the scene unfolds again – Taeyeon trying to drag her back from Moonbyul’s body, just as the sirens got louder and louder. Taeyeon trying to hold her as she screamed.

“I’ve terrified,” she admits softly. She doesn’t recognize the sound of her own voice. It cracks though and she shifts, reaching for the tissue box. “I’m terrified because I’ve said _I love you_ a million different ways and to a million different people, _for_ a million different people on top of that.”

It seems to dawn on her therapist. The woman smiles. It seems smug and Wheein glares as she reaches for the tissue box in her lap.

“This is the first time you’ve meant it,” she says.

 

 

 

 

 

They end at the river. It’s quite the picture: Wheein, Moonbyul, and a giant, neon green bear that sits between the two of them and houses a convenience store back with soda and candy that she’s ignoring.

“That was way too short,” she pouts, and Moonbyul just laughs warmly, popping a few pieces of candy into her mouth. “It was more like a mini-street event than a carnival. You can’t just run around and call things carnivals that aren’t carnivals.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

Wheein narrows her eyes. “You just came for the food.”

Moonbyul laughs delightedly, patting the head of the bear that she won Wheein in one of the stands. “Absolutely,” she says with mock seriousness.

The color in her face brings some ease to Wheein. She breathes and feels the air cool all of her nerves, drawing her into resting, at least with some kind of ease. She leans into the bear, reaching into the back of her jean pockets.

“I have something to ask you,” she murmurs.

“Sure.”

“Hear me out though,” she says, and her fingers curl around a small box. It’s plastic and her nails hit the tops. She fumbles because she doesn’t want Moonbyul to see it. “I might seem a little crazy,” she says breathlessly.

“You?”

Wheein narrows her eyes. “You’re not being helpful.”

Moonbyul laughs and the sound hits her in the pit of her stomach. She tries not to struggle with these thoughts: you almost lost this, you’re going to live with this fear in the back of your mind – when did you get like this? And that’s the biggest question, one where the answer is hovering over her head, waiting for her to accept it.

“Are we dating?” she asks finally, swallowing.

“Is that the question?” There is amusement in Moonbyul’s voice. “Really?”

“Seriously.” Wheein frowns. “That’s the question.”

Moonbyul picks up the bear. It’s awkward and obstructing. She can’t hold back the laugh that bubbles up against the back of her throat. Wheein watches as she drops the bear on the step below them and lets the plastic bag rest next to it.

She shifts too. Turns. Her knees rest against hers and it takes Wheein a moment to realize what she’s doing. It goes unspoken: you’re not running away.

“What’s this about?” Moonbyul asks too. Her voice remains even. She reaches forward, her fingers curling around her hand. “You’ve been trying to ask me something for weeks and avoiding it at the same time.”

Wheein bites the inside of her cheek. “That’s me. A natural –”

She’s cut off because Moonbyul kisses her, pressing an open mouth over hers. Her breath tastes sweet and Wheein’s stomach jumps back into knots.

A confession: she hasn’t forgotten any of the kisses that Moonbyul has given, categorizing them by moments and by the way she finds herself kissing back. In her head, she calls them her timeline; abrupt, rushed panicked kisses were the _we’re almost together time_ – which, if anything didn’t count, considering Moonbyul almost ended them before they had a chance to start.

“Stop for a second,” Wheein breathes shakily, her fingers curling in Moonbyul’s shirt. She smiles against Moonbyul’s mouth, mostly to reassure her. “I just – I need to get this out before I lose momentum.”

Moonbyul pulls back, mouth pink and flushed. “You’re cute,” she says, her voice low.

“Shut up.”

She curls her fingers around the small box again, shifting so she can put it into Moonbyul’s hand. She drops it too quickly and the lid falls off, revealing a small, silver ring nestled in some tissue.

“Oh,” Moonbyul says, states really. “Oh okay – I –”

And maybe it’s panic that settles across her face, even more apparent as Moonbyul draws back, staring at her in awe and confusion. She’s losing momentum and it’s freaking her out.

“I – I don’t really have any plans,” she says quickly. She forces a smile too. “In fact, I’m kind of doing this blindly because we haven’t exactly been the most traditional about any of this, haven’t said we’re dating and… well, we are? And what happened to you was so – sorry about the cursing, but it was fucking scary.”

It happens so suddenly, but she’s crying and her head loses the last of her rational though, pressing back with the imagines of Moonbyul that have haunted her, on the ground and bleeding. Her eyes squeeze shut and her breathing is panicking. Don’t freak out, she tells herself. _Don’t_.

She rubs her eyes.

“Marry me.” Her voice shudders. “Just… marry me?”

It’s a familiar face, Moonbyul’s as her expression changes from confusion, to shock, and then to something completely unreadable. Her hands draw back and fall into her lap and Wheein can feel her pull away. The answer is there. The answer is there unapologetically and between them; Wheein closes her eyes because looking at Moonbyul might devastate her in a way that she can’t bare to fall under.

But she listens. She listens and hears her boots scrape back. She feels. She feels the small box sink into her lap, heavy.

“No,” she says softly. “I can’t.”

 

 

 

 

 

The ring is repurposed.

No, not like that.

It was her grandmother’s. One of the things she passed onto her, not to her mother. The note attached to it was simple: _a piece of me to you, who I’ve loved since you were a baby, and a piece of me and you that you can pass onto the one that you will love too_. Moonbyul was the first person that made her remember that she had it. That says a lot, she thinks, told herself too.

Now it sits at home, in the apartment that she comes to, the one that she hasn’t been back to in months. The routine is simple.

Put it into a drawer and forget about it.

 

 

 

 

 

The studio seems like the safest place to go to.

 _No_. She falls into a regular routine; spends an hour at three am cleaning her kitchen, only to end it with rubber gloves and writing a song on her laptop. She hasn’t talked to Taeyeon yet. Thinks about talking to her. Then stops – it’s crazy. Taeyeon effectively remains in her life as the longest standing relationship that she’s ever had, consistent at best, but a standing reminder at how bad she is at relationships. She hates that. She hates that she lets herself think this way.

She still goes to the studio though. She brings a bag, an old notebook, and takeout, assuming that it’s going to be a late night.

The problem starts when she gets to the door.

The laugh startles her. She stumbles into stopping against a corner, flanking the wall as she sees Taeyeon and Jessica behind the glass.

“I’m _not_ singing,” Jessica protests. “You’re crazy.”

“You used to all the time,” Taeyeon points out, spinning a pen between her fingers. “Wheein isn’t here and you’re the next best thing.”

Jessica snorts. “You’re really selling it.”

Taeyeon laughs, genuinely even – it’s a startling sound even as Jessica comes into view, expression bright with amusement. Taeyeon gestures towards the piano, off to the side from Wheein’s view. She feels like she shouldn’t be watching this.

“You have a beautiful voice,” Taeyeon says. Her voice warms. “Remember when we used to hang out in the music room?”

“Everybody thought you were a vampire,” Jessica quips.

Taeyeon snorts. “Just you.”

The sound of the piano flows shortly after. The keys are clear, crisp, and she recognizes the arrangement as one of Taeyeon’s works in progress, one that she keeps half hidden and for a rainy day, at least that’s what she says each time she asks about it. We could use it, she always says.

“How long has it been?” Taeyeon says and startled, Wheein realizes that it’s Jessica playing. 

She quietly enters the studio, putting her food onto one of the tables. Her bag follows after and stays flanking a corner, curious and unable to stop herself. Jessica is sitting at the piano. She can’t see her hands, but the arrangement unravels like a seasoned player taking Taeyeon’s work apart.

“I don’t know,” Jessica murmurs. “Years, definitely. I haven’t played since –”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

Jessica shrugs. Wheein watches a sad smile appear on her mouth. “We’re all friends here,” she says and it comes off dry, sharp even. It doesn’t help that Taeeyon winces either. Jessica continues. “But… this is nice.”

“Really?” Taeyeon appears at her side, sitting on the piano bench next to her.

Jessica meets her gaze. “Really.”

The piano stops. There’s a shift and it’s Taeyeon, this time, bent over the keys. It’s a comfortable view until Jessica starts to hum, almost too softly, enough so that Wheein has to strain to listen because she doesn’t even understand what’s happening.

Then Jessica starts to sing.

The words are not important. Not yet, she tells herself. But that’s a normal habit. That’s how she writes her songs. It’s just that Jessica’s voice happens and it’s bright and wistful, flows unlike anything she’s ever heard. And next to Jessica, there is Taeyeon watching her quietly, an unmistakable smile printed against her mouth.

It’s ridiculously painful to watch this. Partly because she feels like she shouldn’t, that she’s intruding. She can’t help it; it’s almost painful to watch them look each other and there are varying emotions – love, sadness, anger, and a million other things that she can barely bring herself to name.

Wheein thinks: _I don’t want to be this way_.

The ring burns a hole in her pocket.

It didn’t stay in the drawer long.

 

 

 

 

 

Later, Taeyeon finds her outside.

Her takeout is untouched. Jessica is gone, long gone, and the spot where her car with park is weird empty. Wheein looks up when Taeyeon sits down next to her on the stoop, draping her jacket over her shoulders.

“It’s cold,” she comments.

Wheein bites her lip. She doesn’t even dance around it. “I asked Byul to marry me and she said no. I probably should have had more tact, but…”

“She said no,” Taeyeon repeats.

A laugh breaks out from Wheein’s mouth, muffled as she throws her hands over her lips and closes her eyes. Her fingers are tremble. At some point, she starts to cry. It doesn’t stop; it’s bewildering, but the sounds that come out of her mouth are painful, dragging through her shoulders and shuddering back into her mouth.

“I –”

Taeyeon drops a hand against her back. “You’re okay,” she says gently.

“It’s not _that_ ,” she protests. “It’s just nothing about this is conventional and I hate that I can’t wrap my head around it. And then I do something _stupid_ and she’s probably like she’s only going there because I got shot and she doesn’t want anything else to happen to me or feel guilty, even though it’s stupid that I feel guilty because I didn’t shoot some awful, horrible excuse for a human being tried to take away the best thing that’s stumbled into my life –”

She stops because she’s heaving into sobs. They grow longer and longer. She drops her head and hands over her knees, burying herself away because it’s just exhausting and she feels like she’s losing control and giving up at the same time.

“Why does it have to be conventional?”

Wheein feels her shoulders shudder again. Taeyeon pulls her hand back, leaning into the steps to look out. 

“Why does it have to be anything but what you need it to be?” She asks, her mouth pursing into a small smile. “I know you write a lot of songs. I know you have an idea of what everyone else thinks love is – but why can’t it be just what it needs to be for you? And also, she’s probably freaked out because you sort of sprung it on her.”

Wheein is muffled. “Jessica told you.”

“Yes.” In all the years that she’s known Taeyeon, she has been a terrible liar. If she knows you, she doesn’t even bother lying either. “That’s why she was here.”

“You knew I was here.”

“I figured you’d get here,” Taeyeon says and there’s nothing accusatory about it.

Wheein pulls out the ring. She opens the box and shows it to Taeyeon. She’s seen it before; along time ago, back when they were dating – rather, on their way to breaking up. She can’t remember why they were looking through her drawer but a pretty piece of jewelry turned into a you should give that to someone special comment that Taeyeon could take back and Wheein only held onto as an affirmation why they would never work romantically. At all.

Taeyeon picks up the ring box though. She doesn’t touch the ring. She studies, smiling a little. Her hair falls into her eyes when she meets her gaze.

“Looks like her.”

Wheein blinks and looks away, blushing. “She didn’t even see it.”

“You should try again,” Taeyeon murmurs. “She might surprise you the second time around even.”

“I’m not that brave,” Wheein protests.

Taeyeon leans in, patting her head. Her smile is warm, rare even – but mostly, mostly a signal that the two of them need to go back inside and start working.

“You might surprise yourself,” is all she says. 

 

 

 

 

 

Wheein writes a song that night.

Calls it _sharp objects_. The verse she sings out loud feels a little jagged; it even surprises Taeyeon as they move it to piano.

“I’m always left here wondering,” she stumbles through, “how I keep coming back to your bed.”

Her therapist doesn’t call this closure.

 

 

 

 

 

It’s Saturday when Moonbyul shows up. She even plants herself in front of her apartment door, sitting on the floor with her leather jacket draped over her shoulders and her arms crossed over her chest. _She’ll be back at work in a couple of weeks_ , Jessica texts her. Wheein tries not to let it feel like an omen; her heart hurts and it does.

When she stops in front of her though, Moonbyul doesn’t remove herself from the door or stand to greet her, instead looks up and studies her. Her gaze is open and Wheein is way too aware of herself, sweaty gym clothes and her hair swept back into a messy ponytail. She grits herself through a smile.

“What are you doing here?”

Moonbyul doesn’t blink. “We’re going to start packing your things.”

“Where am I going?” she asks, confused. 

“Home.” Moonbyul stands and towers over her, lacing her fingers through Wheein’s. She tugs at her arm. “But we’re going somewhere first.”

“But I’m gross from the gym. I need to shower –”

“Doesn’t matter,” Moonbyul says. “Where we’re going is close. Then we’ll come back and pack and whatever. I’ll call the moving company myself.”

She leaves no room for argument, holding Wheein’s hand tightly. She marches them to the elevator and then greets a neighbor pleasantly, never once relinquishing the weight of her hand for anything.

Wheein feels selfish as she watches her. Notices things like the color in her face. How her shoulders are set back and calm. She isn’t favoring any particular side. She even looks rested and Wheein feels guilty too, knowing full well that she should have been around for her recovery and nothing else.

So she follows her despite the protests in her brain, holding onto her hand tightly. Wheein is a little embarrassed that she’s underdressed and hates that for once, if anything, that Moonbyul is in control and she doesn’t know where they are going.

Once outside, she remembers how pretty it is. It’s starting to settle into fall, so the leaves are starting to change. When they cross the street and cut into the park, she starts to relax because it doesn’t seem to be any particular place they’re going to. Instead, she lets Moonbyul lead her deeper into the park and then out, over a side street and then into the yard of what seems to be a church.

“Where –”

“Just wait,” Moonbyul says and pulls her through the churchyard to the back into a large, sprawling area. 

It’s lush and green and it takes her a minute to process the beauty and then contrast it with the headstones that are spaced out in different places. Some are clustered together. Others stand singularly; Moonbyul walks her towards one and a small patch of flowers, where it sits underneath a large oak tree.

“Where are we?”

Moonbyul ignores her. She lets go of her hand and bows her head towards the grave, closing her eyes. Wheein feels her heart pounding.

“Where are _we_?” she asks again, her mouth drying.

And then everything stops.

“Mom,” Moonbyul says quietly. “This is Wheein. This is…” She rubs the back of her neck, smiling shyly. “This is the girl I was telling you about.”

Wheein loses every ability to speak or articulate the mess that is happening in her brain. She can barely process where they are, let alone the fact that this is a reality that she is coming face to face with. 

Moonbyul still turns away from her, shoulders easy into a comfortable position. Her face is shadowed and still bowed.

“She thinks I don’t love her,” Moonbyul says. “And that’s really hard – you know I’m, like, ridiculously awful at feelings and stuff. That’s what happens when you have brothers. That’s probably why I’m good at being a cop.”

Wheein takes a step forward. If only to hear, she tells herself. Her gaze settles on the headstone, but the engraving is weathered and faded. It looks like it has been awhile since anyone has come.

Moonbyul softens her voice. “I promised myself that I would get better at coming here. So I thought it was only appropriate to bring this girl here with me. Mostly because I love her – well, not mostly. I love her. We’re not exactly the best and doing the things the right way either… I’m sure you’re looking down at me, wondering what happened.” Moonbyul laughs and leans in, brushing her hand over the headstone. “But, you know, _brothers_ – I have to blame them for something.”

Wheein chokes on her laughter, rubbing her eyes as Moonbyul turns to face her. She offers her hand and Wheein takes it, stumbling forward next to her.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Moonbyul says quietly. “I’m sorry that you had to see all of that… that it’s getting to you. That you’re –”

“It’s not your fault.” Wheein shakes her head. “I just don’t have –” She sighs. “I’m really bad at this,” she mumbles. “You need someone strong.”

“Stop it.”

Wheein feels Moonbyul’s fingers lace through hers. Her hold on her hand is tight and steady. It eases away from the unsteadiness in Wheein’s legs; slowly, she starts to lean against the taller woman, resting her head against her shoulder.

“I didn’t say no because you’re not strong,” Moonbyul murmurs. “You took care of me. You stood by me. I don’t know how else to say that you’re strong. Like, you’re crazy if you think of yourself otherwise.”

“But –”

Moonbyul laughs softly. “I want you to ask me because you want to. Not because you think it’s the thing to do. Not because you think it’s going to erect some kind of shield that is going to protect me from the world.”

“Seems like a good idea,” she mutters.

“Stop it,” Moonbyul snorts. She leans in, brushing her mouth against her forehead. “I love you,” she says honestly, and it’s sharp, the way the words settle into Wheein’s throat, make her ears ring, and the weight that’s engrained itself onto her shoulders start to ease back.

For once, it’s not as scary. 

It’s the smell, you know. The heat of the sun. Moonbyul’s jacket scrapping lightly against her mouth as she pulls her closer, her arm settling on Wheein’s shoulders.

Wheein feels a little braver. “Tell your daughter that I love her too.”

 

 

 

 

 

“But it doesn’t bother you anymore?”

Wheein blinks and looks up. The bejeweled tissue box is nowhere in sight in her therapist’s office; it’s probably her fault, she thinks with amusement.

“What bothers me?” she asks and her therapist sighs, closing her notebook.

“Your girlfriend’s job.” Her therapist leans into her chair, staring at her with mild irritation. It’s enough to make Wheein laugh just before the other woman continues. “Let’s call a spade a spade and what not. It is a dangerous job,” she reiterates. “I’m sure that –”

“Yeah,” Wheein agrees. “Of course it bothers me that she’s going to eventually go back to work – in two weeks, in fact, but I’m not going to stop her. Or make her choose. It’s not our style.”

“What is your style?”

Wheein rubs her eyes, smiling a little. She leans back in her seat, crossing her legs. She waits a minute. Then another.

“It’s hard to explain,” she says slowly. “And then when I think about explaining it, I stop. Because why do I have to explain anything? We’re not conventional and we’re okay with that. I don’t think we’ll ever be, actually.”

“So what’s next then?”

Wheein picks a spot in the room. She stares, smiling. A writing vacation – it’s Taeyeon’s suggestion. We need new songs, she had said. Mostly because they have too many projects on the pipeline, including their own. Moonbyul is behind it; a vacation before reality and mostly because she likes hiking is what she tells Taeyeon and Wheein when they suggest it. Jessica is coming too and that’s a mystery she leaves to Taeyeon and Taeyeon alone.

“Couples vacation,” she says dryly, amused.

Her therapist looks too confused to care.

 

 

 

 

 

The house Taeyeon rents sits on the end of the island, overlooking the beach and the sea on one side and the other, opening into a wide expanse of land, lush and green and incredibly unreal to view.

They work in periods. Sometimes, it’s in the morning when the others are sleeping. It’s hard because Wheein never wants to leave the bed; Moonbyul’s legs tangle into hers and she’s too warm of a weight, and that’s really, really difficult to leave. Mostly, it’s at night when the acoustics are better and both Jessica and Moonbyul are cooking dinner and it’s weird, she thinks, how quickly they feel like a family.

On the second to last day, Moonbyul is awake before she is.

“Get up,” she says gently, laughing when Wheein bats her hand away. Wheein opens one eye and sees her dressed, leggings and hiking boots, the full gear. “You need fresh air before you disappear into your cave for a couple of hours.”

Wheein moans. “I _like_ my cave.”

“Whatever – let’s go.”

She humors her, of course. She protests by getting dressed slowly, stealing one of Moonbyul’s ugly flannels and tying it around her waist. She slides into hiking boots too; brand new and because Moonbyul insisted.

“Cute,” Moonbyul even approves, bending down onto one knee to tie her shoes for her. Wheein rubs her eyes, trying to escape from blushing too hard. “I packed snacks and stuff too,” Moonbyul says before she asks, grabbing a backpack and her hand to lead her outside.

They pass Jessica on their way out, coming in from a run on the beach. She looks relaxed and Wheein calls out to her, but she waves her off – Moonbyul is on a mission and Jessica winks at them, causing Wheein to blush and not understand anything that’s happening. It’s because she’s been woken up before nine, she reasons. She doesn’t let go of Moonbyul’s hand the entire time either.

Once they arrive on a path, Moonbyul shoves a coffee into her hands. She grins gratefully and begins to enjoy the morning. The sun peeks through a lot the leaves. There’s a chill and she clumsily pulls the flannel off of her waist, sliding into it as they begin to walk together.

“Sleep okay?”

Wheein snorts. “I know you did,” she teases. She punches Moonbyul’s arm. “You were out by the time I came upstairs.”

“It was the meat,” Moonbyul shrugs, unapologetic. She grins. “I ate so much – I figured this was a good thing to do today.”

Wheein rolls her eyes.

She feels more like herself and in turn, Wheein feels like she’s putting herself back together too. She refuses to be cheesy. She’s never been that person. This trip though – it’s been a good idea for her, for them.

Moonbyul still takes the lead though, grabbing her hand again. She tugs Wheein along, ducking through a row of trees and onto a new path, heading towards a small cliff. It’s still barely fall so the green is pinking into various shades of red, yellow, and orange. It’s a little overwhelming to watch and take in, but she shields her eyes with one hand and looks out into the view.

“It’s nice that you can smell the sea too,” she murmurs, smiling. “I like this place a lot.”

“Good.”

Moonbyul drops her bag, starting to rummage through it. Wheein yawns and steps forward, digging through her pocket for her phone.

“I’m going to take a picture,” she says and then frowns, “but I forgot my phone – _dummy_ , how are we going to remember this moment if I –”

She turns and stops halfway, her jaw dropping. It takes her a minute to process the fact that Moonbyul is behind, but no longer going through the backpack and on her knee, again or still. Her fingers start to tremble against the coffee cup; she feels like she’s holding on for dear life.

“What are you doing?” she breathes, eyes wide.

Moonbyul remains unfazed. Her hand rises between them, her fingers closed into a fist. Wheein feels her heart start to pound.

“Let’s do something stupid,” she says. Her voice is low. The corners of her mouth twitch. “I think that it’s only appropriate that I meet you halfway, you know?”

Wheein’s eyes begin to burn. She laughs, muffling the sound with a hand.

“Isn’t this _already_ stupid?” she asks and her eyes go to Moonbyul’s hand, widening when she sees her ring. Her head is spinning; she doesn’t even know how to handle that.

Moonbyul’s fingers begin to peel back, one by one. There is a ring that rests against her palm. It’s silver, simple. The stones are a bright blue and she has no idea what they are or if she cares. Her hand is shaking when she leans in to pick it up, rolling the ring between her fingers with awe.

“I don’t care if we do it today, tomorrow, or at Christmas,” Moonbyul tells her. “I don’t care if it’s a piece of paper or in front of all our friends. I don’t even care if we’re not doing this the right way – whatever that is supposed to mean.”

Wheein is crying now. She can’t hold it back. Her face is a mess and her throat is scrapping through sounds. Her coffee cup has slipped from her hand and she can do nothing but onto the ring.

“But,” Moonbyul finishes, standing. There is dirt clinging to her knees. “I care about forever for you and me. So here I am, making that promise. I loved you since I saw you and that has always been enough for me, even if you didn’t love me back.”

“But –”

Moonbyul’s expression changes and softens. “But you do,” she murmurs. “And you can’t give that back either – which is why I’m grabbing you and taking on forever.”

Wheein can’t hold back anything anymore and throws herself into Moonbyul, sobbing even as she laughs and holds onto her tightly. She buries her face in Moonbyul’s neck, letting her untangle her hand long enough to slide the ring onto her finger.

“ _You’re so cheesy_ ,” she manages and maybe that’s it, she thinks, there, right there, right now and what she needs. What they need. “Quit being cheesy,” she says, brushing her mouth over Moonbyul’s.

But Moonbyul laughs again and combs her fingers through her hair, murmuring and humming and holding her as tightly as she can. This is not going to be perfect, Wheein feels herself thinking. This is not going to be the love song that she writes, that sells records or anything in between. And that’s fine, she thinks. That’s more than enough for her anyway.

This is why it’s called halfway.

**Author's Note:**

> And that's the end?
> 
> I know, _I know_. But what about Jessica's part? Originally, I was going to write Jessica a part in this particular story but after writing Taeyeon's part, it became even more clear to me that her story and Taeyeon's story should be able to stand away from Moonbyul and Wheein's as its own. It just makes more sense because of their dynamic and their history and everything in between.
> 
> So maybe I'll do some sort of stand alone epilogue for them? Or maybe I'll dive right into their story and the aftermath - y'all know I can resist a good AU after all, especially with Doctor!Jessica aka my favorite AU!character trope. Or maybe I do another three parter. I haven't made that decision.
> 
> But thank you so much for all your kind comments and support. It's overwhelming and awesome and I'm just happy that people read what I write - it means a lot. 
> 
> HEARTS AND STUFF!


End file.
